


Another Stupid Summer

by lucylecter



Category: Firestarter - Stephen King, IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon - Book, Canon Relationships, Experimentation, F/M, Fictober 2019, Gen, Inspiration station hit me, It is dead for now, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Testing, Science Experiments, Supernatural Elements, the shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 01:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylecter/pseuds/lucylecter
Summary: A few years after they seemingly defeat It, the losers are swept up in a private experimentation group that has caught wind of their above-average abilities. They find themselves trapped at a facility called The Shop and are pushed to wield and demonstrate their various abilities. But for what reasons?





	1. Richard Tozier Takes a Nap

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve decided to attempt fictober! I’m always wanting to do inktober but for writing instead. So I googled and voila! Fictober is a thing! Amazing. This is a fic that I think will work for all the prompts somehow so I’ll see how this goes. Hopefully all good things. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or kudos and let me know what you think! Good, bad, the ugly, I’m all ears. For those who have only read/ watched It and not Firestarter, don’t worry; there wont be any plot spoilers at all for Firestarter and you don’t really need to know anything about it. Though, what I do incorporate from it will probably make you want to learn more about it so there’s that. Happy inktober to all who are participating/ are trying to like yours truly. Xoxo gossip girl.

Richie stared at the silver tray in front of him. The guard had set it at an uneven angle down onto the wooden coffee table, muttering and in a rush to do God knows what in this hellhole that didn’t involve Richie’s dinner. Idly, as he stared at the food, Richie thought of Stan and hoped the guards on his end set shit down more neatly.

The crystal vase on the tray’s top-right corner held a single red tulip. For atmosphere or some shit, Eddie had told him. The petals were shiny and filled the temperature-controlled air in his unit with their light fragrance. A single leaf peaked out of the vase, vibrant and green. It matched the colour of the heavy fabric napkin folded beside the plate of dinner. Turkey, wet and glistening on top of a bed of mashed potatoes drizzled with gravy. There were peas on the plate. The smell would have been heavenly a few weeks ago. Now, he grabbed the tulip vase and tugged it closer as he leaned down and inhaled its scent as deeply as he could.

His fingers went under his smudged glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His shoulders were slumped as he perched on the very edge of the velvet green sofa, with his nose still hovering over the tulip. The shirt he wore was grey and slightly too big now. Even if the others hadn’t pointed this out with quiet concern clear in their eyes, Richie wasn’t stupid. Every time his wrists were strapped into that fucking gurney lately, the medical aide had to use the smallest hole in the leather cuffs.

It was the one thing about The Shop, Ben had said half-jokingly, that was good for him. The only ones who hadn’t seemed to lose weight were Big Bill and Mike. Richie’s wrists ached whenever he looked too closely at Eddie’s or Beverly’s. Beverly had joked somberly that if Richie lost any more weight his ulna would pop out. Richie had asked her what the fuck an ulna was. Three weeks ago, Richie would have broke out his Jim voice and shamed her for speaking so openly about his boner, lawks-a-mussy. But ever since coming to this shithole and having to cough up his voices every morning for the director, Richie was drained. He stumbled through the rest of his days, blindly eating and sitting around and trying to save up enough energy to use when he finally saw his friends on the weekend.

When he stopped pressing on his eyes, Richie saw stars. He sat up slightly and grabbed the heavy fork and knife. He held them over the plate, wrists aching in protest. Why the fuck they had such heavy utensils Richie didn’t know, but he was sure there was some dastardly reason behind it. Like everything else here.

He glared at the fork, at his shiny reflection staring back at him, and waited for the stars to clear. He’d promised Eddie that he’d try. Stabbing into the turkey and scraping potatoes along with it, Richie held his breath as he brought the fork up to his mouth and shovelled it in. He chewed slowly, staring at the beige wallpaper behind the television. He was actually getting bored of cartoons. Huckleberry Hound was talking to the mice on screen, he noted detachedly.

After managing to get through about half of the dinner, Richie shoved the tray across the table. He drank the rest of the water from the pitcher they brought this morning, nose wrinkling at the lukewarm temperature of it. He set that on top of the plate of food, tossing the stupid napkin over all of it. Then, he lifted his feet off the floor, turned his back to the TV, and laid his head down on the cushioned armrest. His glasses were digging into his temple so he removed them, chucking them onto the other end of the couch without looking.

Shutting his eyes, Richie let his mind drift away from the sounds of Huck and the humming lights. The hum sucked him back to his first visit with the director, the machinery whirring and clicking beside the gurney. Richie had been struggling vehemently against the cuffs, yelling and kicking at the medical lady who strapped him in until he couldn’t. He remembered seeing the curiosity in her eyes and shrinking inadvertently away from it. As soon as she exited the room, a man with blond hair and a beard had entered wearing a suit. Beside him stood another man holding a clipboard. Both were staring hard at him.

Blinking, Richie had ceased his movement and stared back. The machines kept whirring. “What the fuck are you two looking at?”

The blond one stepped forward. “Richard, is it?” He grinned and folded his arms behind his back. “Richard...?” He trailed off, looking back at clipboard guy.

“Tozier.”

Blondie nodded. “Richard Tozier. Fourteen years old, I believe? Grew up in, and lived in, Derry, Maine.” He chuckled. “I’d shake your hand, but you’re a bit tied up at the moment.”

Richie gaped at him, eyes darting between the two men in disbelief.

“My name is Harold. I’m the director of The Shop, which is where you are currently staying,” blondie said. He extended an arm towards the door. “This is Dale, my associate. We’re here to ah...” Harold paused, scratching his beard and still grinning at Richie. “Play a bit of a game with you.”

Finding his voice at last, Richie scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m sure its gonna be a real family friendly one, right doc?”

If possible, the grin stretched wider. Dale at the door stepped closer, walked over to one of the machines and fiddled with it. “The game can be as friendly as possible, Richard. All you have to do,” he said, laying a palm across Richie’s wrist, “is cooperate.”

Richie jerked his arm, dislodging the palm. His heart was racing. Harold laughed again, speaking scientist to clipboard-Dale. He tried to listen to them, but his ears were buzzing. _Don’t_ _panic_, he tried to tell himself. It was a pretty piss-poor pep talk. He breathed deeply, thinking of his friends and wondering what happened to them. Where they were. Were they here too? Were they strapped to a table like Richie was? He tried not to think of that possibility too long as thinking of them in Richie’s shoes right now made his stomach lurch sickeningly. And then he was thinking of Eddie on the gurney and he had to close his eyes.

He tuned back in when the director clapped his hands. The lights were dimmed. “Shall we get started?”

Dale was scribbling on the clipboard to Richie’s right. Harold stood at the foot of the gurney, towering over him. “Uh... no? How about you untie me and let me go home? I think that sounds like a lot more fun, gents.”

Harold continued to smile. “I think you’ll find that this _will_ be fun, Richard.” He nodded at Dale, who stepped forward and lowered a complicated-looking component on a wire onto Richie’s dark head. It cradled his whole scalp, was cold on his skin, and it connected to one of the machines. The machine in question beeped suddenly and Richie flinched. “What the fuck is this thing?!” His voice pitched higher.

Laughter. From both of them. The director pulled up the chair beside the gurney and stationed himself at Richie’s bare feet. His dark eyes bored into Richie’s blue ones.

“If you do as I tell you, and follow my instructions, everything will be fine. Trust me.” He shot Richie a winning smile. It made his skin crawl. “Now, I understand that you like to do impressions?”

Richie blinked, looking between them in confusion. “Who doesn’t?”

“Beats me!” Harold said joyfully. “Could you do one for me?”

Richie raised one eyebrow. “Why, ah say, however could you ask that of me, good sir?”

The director clapped, laughing. “Yes! Thank you, Richard. That was very good.” He looked over at Dale, who gave him a thumbs up. Richie took this as his chance.

“Do you think one of you fine gentlemen could tell me what this here contraption on my head is? Ah say,” he drawled. “It troubles me so.” The grin twisted. Suddenly, all Richie could see in front of him was that fucking clown.

“That contraption, as you say, is being used to monitor your brain waves, dear boy. Your impressions, your ‘voices,’ are rather unique, did you know?”

_Sure_ _I_ _do_, he thought. _But_ _how_ _the_ _fuck_ _do_ _you_ _know_ _about_ _them_? Richie paused, looking at the director with renewed suspicion. He bustled on. “We’d like to monitor your brain waves before and during one of these voices, if you will. Perhaps you could indulge me further?”

Richie dropped the voice. “How do you know about them?”

“Oh, Richard,” he chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “We know a lot about you, and your friends.”

“And why the fuck should I ‘indulge’ you, doc?”

“Well... If you don’t cooperate with me nicely, I will be forced to resort to ah,” he scratched his beard again. “Less than friendly measures. And I’d like for us to be good friends here, Richard, don’t you?”

“Good friends my ass. You’re just buttering us up so you don’t feel bad about keeping us here, man.”

The director stood up slowly, still smiling. “Last chance, Richard. Are we going to cooperate, or will you force me to make you talk?”

His hands were shaking. Curling them into fists, Richie glared at the man. “Do your worst, you chuckle head.”

Behind the machine, Dale walked over to the wall. He looked at the director and waited until he nodded at him, before flicking the light-switch marked with a yellow hazard sign. And then Richie couldn’t think anymore because his body was on fire. A scream ripped itself from his throat as the gurney - a metal one, he noted distantly - shocked him. It seemed to go on forever. Richie tried to move but couldn’t.

He didn’t remember it hurting this much, he thought. And as soon as he thought that, the director was on top of him, wrapping icy hands around his throat. Squeezing. Clawing. Choking. Richie couldn’t breathe. He gasped, heaving for air, stars filling his vision and eyes rolling back into his skull as the assistant continued to shock him. A guttural voice made him look up to see the director grinning, quite literally from ear to ear. The corners of his mouth were bleeding, dripping blood onto Richie’s glasses. _Drip_. _Drip_. _Drip_.

“Beep-beep, Richie.”

Back on the couch, Richie gasped awake as his eyes flew open. He laid there, catching his breath. The TV was still on. He had a crick in his neck and he was distinctly sweaty. He groaned, rolling onto his back and running a hand through his damp hair.

_A_ _dream_, he thought. _Just_ _a_ _stupid_ _dream_.

Squinting without his glasses, he read the clock on the wall above the door and saw that it was two in the morning. He groaned again and shoved his hands over his eyes, pushing in. Seeing stars. He removed his hands and watched the stars dance on the popcorn ceiling.

“Get me the fuck out of here.”


	2. Eddie Kaspbrak Has No Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things started to get weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 prompt. Happy reading!

One of the first times they noticed that something was different after they fought It was just months later, near the beginning of October. The seven of them had been back in school and already missed the freedom of Summer, even if the Summer had been full of a demonic shapeshifting clown entity that terrorized them. Which, the further away they got from Summer, the hazier It got in their minds. They were all still aware that something awful had happened, but they didn’t try to reach past the fog too hard to figure out exactly what that was.

It was a Friday after school when Richie convinced Bill and Stan to join him in the Barrens. They were all in the same class that year and Richie had caught them after school by the bike rack. They’d waited around for Ben and Eddie there until Mrs. Chambers had released them from class.

“Howdy Eds!” Richie shot up from the grass, saluting grandly, when he spotted the two exiting Derry Elementary. “And Benny my boy! Ah say, a’ve missed you two strapping young boys, ah have.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie greeted him. He looked around at the Losers. “Are we going somewhere?” Ben reached for his bike.

“R-R-Richie wants us t-to go to the B-B-Barrens,” Bill said. “We thought w-we could swing b-b-by and get M-Mike on the w-way.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay. Better that than going home. My mom’s been even worse lately with all that flu stuff on the news.” He rolled his white bike away from the rack, hopping onto it and balancing on his toes to touch the ground. Ben followed suit, hoisting his backpack before climbing on his own.

“D-do you need to ride d-double, Richie?”

“Yeah,” Richie fiddled with his glasses. “The old man hasn’t forgiven me yet for busting up the old one.”

“Well you’re not riding with me,” Stan stated matter-of-factly.

Richie clutched at his chest. “Stanley! I am wounded!”

Bill just rolled his eyes. “Get on.”

Dramatically, Richie hopped onto Silver’s handlebars with one arm over his eyes. “I can’t look, Billy,” he said as Granny Grunt. The impression was actually getting better. “With your driving, we’re already one foot into an early grave, sonny.” Bill sighed, mounting Silver himself.

The five of them rode towards Neibolt Street where Mike’s school was. As they pulled up, Mike was sitting by the curb with his bike.

“Hey, Mikey!”

Mike smiled. “Hello, Richie.”

“You waiting around for me, sweetcheeks?” Not far behind him, Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Something like that. To the Barrens?” Bill nodded, and Mike got onto his bike steadily, gesturing with his arm to the street in front of him.

“Lead the way.”

The wind ruffled their hair and clothes, picking up the closer they got to the Kenduskeag. The breeze brought the scent of sewage to their noses and permeated the air. Eddie wrinkled his nose as they pedalled onto the Kissing bridge.

“Hey guys,” Ben spoke up, pedalling fast to get closer to Bill and Richie at the front. “Do you think we could ride farther up instead?”

Bill stopped pedalling, slowing until he stopped Silver with his foot. Richie tightened his grip on the handlebars, lurching forwards and squawking indignantly. Ben stopped as well, hearing Eddie, Stan and Mike also kick into the dirt. He rubbed the back of his head. “I uh… I’ve been writing to Beverly and she mentioned a place farther up the stream that she used to go to. Some kind of clearing?”

At the mention of Beverly, they all fell quiet. Her absence was an ever-present feeling whenever they were all together now, thought they hadn’t realized it until just now. Richie frowned, looking down at his ratty sneakers dangling in the air. Bev had doodled on them before she left for her Aunt’s. 

Eddie piped up from beside Bill and Richie. “How is she, Ben?”

Ben smiled, flushing a bit. “She’s good, Eddie. She likes her new school a lot more.”

“I bet she does. Gee, I haven’t talked to Beverly since…” Eddie trailed off, wincing. “Last week? I can’t remember. Its hard to talk on the phone with her because of my Mom hovering around.”

Mike nodded. “I haven’t either. I’ve been so busy at the farm I haven’t had much time to think outside of school.” The others nodded somberly. Stan was staring at the bridge railing, eyes glazed over.

Bill broke the silence with a, “L-let’s go c-c-check it out,” and Ben beamed.

“Thanks, Bill.”

“Do you know w-where i-i-it is?”

At this, Ben looked off into the river distantly. “She said it wasn’t far off from the Kissing bridge. A few miles up the river at most.”

Richie poked Bill in the ribs with a bony elbow. “Well tally-ho, Billy boy. Hop aboard your mighty steed and let’s trek on!” In the process, one of his feet flailed out and kicked the back of Eddie’s knee, who spun around affronted.

“Watch it, Richie!”

Richie giggled. “Whoops. Sorry, Eds.”

“And don’t call me Eds!” He danced out of the reach of Richie’s pinching fingers advancing on his cheek.

“Cute!”

The others laughed. Eddie huffed, jumping back onto his bike and rubbing one cheek as though Richie had gotten to it anyways with narrowed eyes.

“Come on,” Bill said, still chuckling. He flicked the back of Richie’s head for good measure. “Hang on this time, you waste.”

Richie straightened, grinning, with both hands on the bars now. “Sir, yes sir!” And they all pedalled off, this time with Ben leading the pack. They rode for about ten minutes in relative silence before Ben slowed to a halt near a dark blue house.

“I think its past that trail there.” He pointed to the right of the house where a wooded path opened.

Eddie hesitated. “Isn’t this private property?”

“Ah, don’t be a wiener, Eddie. Private schmivate.” Eddie scowled, but moved ahead with the others after Bill reassured him that it wasn’t. They walked their bikes alongside them over the crunching leaves and uneven path, tuning out the sound of Richie complaining that his chariot was gone.

After toeing a big rock out of his path, Ben squinted up at the trees with his bike wheels clicking. “Eddie, you have a good sense of direction, right?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“Sometimes?” Mike questioned, raising one dark eyebrow. “You’re the only one who got us through that sewer in Summer.”

At the mention of the sewers, Eddie froze. Stan stopped walking and stared at Mike.

“I guess, yeah,” Eddie said quickly, shaking his head. “Do you want me to try finding it?” He watched Stan rub at his arm.

“Thanks, Eddie. That would be great.” Eddie rolled past them all and paused at the front. After a couple of seconds, he motioned vaguely to the left. “Big clearing? Lots of flowers?” He asked Ben, who nodded with wide eyes. “Its up here, come on.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Just like that, Eds?”

Eddie whirled around, glaring at Richie. “You got a problem, four-eyes?”

“Yeah!” Richie shouted, throwing his hands up. “What the fuck?” Stan shuffled closer, side-eyeing Richie. Bill interrupted.

“H-have you b-b-been here b-before, E-Eddie?”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t think so, no.”

Silence, before Ben ventured: “How do you know?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know. Its just a feeling I get. Like, we could spend an hour stumbling around looking for it, or I could just… take us there.”

Bill thought about this, before a thought struck him. “Mike, why were you waiting for us earlier at the school?”

Mike looked at Bill, tilting his head and thinking. “I guess like Eddie said, I just had this feeling that I should wait there for a bit. It felt like it was a good idea to sit outside for a few minutes, waiting for something. Then you guys showed up.”

“Weird,” Stan said.

“Really weird,” Richie seconded, nodding. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, assholes. Just follow me. Apparently, I know the area.” They all looked at one another as Eddie marched ahead, rushing a bit to catch up.

Richie chuckled. “Oh ho, he knows the area. Do you know my area, Eds?”

Eddie choked, fists clenched and face red. “Beep-fucking-beep, Richie!”

“What?” Richie cried. “I had to! You walked right into that one!”

Ben, Bill and Mike laughed loudly, Mike throwing his head back and wiping at his eyes. Seeing this, Richie grinned widely. He got off a good one, alright. Stan was shaking his head, muttering. “Jesus Christ.”

“That’s Jewish blasphemy, Stanny.”

“Shut up, Richie.”


End file.
